We Are The Inquisition
by ConvictionSC
Summary: Inspired by DA:I's multiplayer, war table missions and iBayne's Galaxy at War: N7. The advisors devise solutions, the Inquisitor picks one, and the rest of Thedas feels the decision. But few have witnessed the blood shed and sacrifices upheld to execute said solutions. Delve into the unsung stories of the Inquisition's faceless heroes. OC-based, requires OC submissions!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yes, yes, not a very original (and rather lame) title, I know. But I seriously couldn't think of anything that sounded more accurate(?). Any IRL Varrics out there with a much more witty name in mind, please hit me with a PM.**

**OC submissions are very much welcome (via review, I'd rather leave PMs exclusive for questions/spoilers). Long-time readers would know that I'm not a fan of creating an ensemble by myself. Different characters by different people feel much more organically unique, and I do not have 2 Rs in my name (how George R. R. Martin and J. R. R. Tolkien can single-handedly write so many characters is a tell-tale sign they're aliens in disguise).**

**Details to include in your submission: name, class and specialisation, race, physical and personality description. If you wish for personalised armour, please include the colour and its corresponding material used.**

**Example: navy blue (silk brocade) sash with pinkish (dawnstone) armour plates.**

* * *

**UPDATE: If there is any aspect of your character you wish to see mentioned/focused/explored in future stories, such as sexuality/hometown/background/family/childhood, include all the relevant information in your submission. Feel free to submit it as a PM if you don't want to spoil potential plot points for other readers scrolling through the review section. **

**If you post without using an account and there is none of the above information, then I'll flesh out the unmentioned aspects of said character with my own spin as I have no way of consulting with you in private.**

* * *

The archer's fingers pulled hard at the taut bowstring, arrow firmly nocked in place.

_In, out. In, out,_ she chanted to herself, willing her diaphragm to settle into a slow but heavy rhythm.

A final deep breath, arrow head deadlocked on her target, and her armoured feet pushed against the earth beneath. Her eyes remained trained on her target, hands steady even as she felt her entire being propel into the air backwards.

_Wait for it,_ she commanded, as her fingers itched to release their hold. Half a second, then the all-too-familiar and almost-silent _whoop _of hemp snapping in the air at the sudden release in tension. It was all too quick for her eyes to process, but the archer didn't have to see anything to know the results. The solid _crunch_ and roaring cheers were all too telling as soon as she landed back on her feet.

"That's my girl!" Cabot yelled in pride as he picked the menacing apple off his head, arrow lodged firmly through. "You just gave Tethras a run for his sovereigns!"

The archer gleamed in pride. That particular feat had taken her a full two weeks to master. It had always been a half-baked trick, but a recent announcement from Lead Scout Harding of an upcoming archery competition had bolstered her resolve to finally master it.

"Flissa!" the dwarf hollered into The Singing Maiden, "a round of ale for everyone!"

The crowd around them cheered again, though this time for the free drinks more than anything else.

She was about to reply when another rough, gravelly voice cut through the noise. "Ferrand! We have orders!"

It was her partner, Cador. The elven assassin was tall and lithe, his slim-muscled limbs dextrous and forceful. The two wicked-looking blades on his back were slightly smudged brown - he'd been out in the woods again. Cador continued, "Sister Nightingale has work for us."

* * *

"They should just be slightly further ahead. Prepare yourself," was all Cador said.

The duo had been silent ever since leaving Haven. And on horseback as well - which was an omen, considering their precious limited steeds in the stables due to the lack of a horsemaster for proper supervision. Even Ambassador Montilyet had travelled on foot with everybody else during their journey from the Free Marches.

"I have a name, you know," his dwarven companion complained. "You'd think that three months of partnership would be enough to break the ice between us. No pun intended," she quickly added as they went around a patch of frozen rocks. "Cyra, or Scout Ferrand, if you want to go all formal."

Cador grunted. He was neither a man of small talk nor of unnecessary politeness. Why Sister Nightingale thought to place this chirpy dwarven archer under his tutelage, he would never understand. He would've preferred any one of those solemn templars that had joined Commander Cullen, or even a mabari as a partner. Both alternatives didn't talk, and had the ferocity of tigers. Ferrand had none of those qualities.

"Halt," he ordered. "Look at the ground."

Footprints, deeply imprinted in the thick snow, their outlines vaguely human with jagged edges. Only heavy armour-clad soldiers could have made such prints. Ferrand wordlessly got down from her horse and tied her steed to a nearby tree.

_At least she's learning._

Cador followed suit. Weapons drawn, they silently trekked their way downhill, occasionally burying themselves among the thick bushes for cover.

"Look!" Ferrand whispered, free hand pointing at a massive green glow emanating from the entrances of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Then everything came at once from within the temple: _shouting, orders, yelling._ The guards at the entrance were agitated - bodies turning and rushing head-first into the interior, great swords unsheathed and shields raised.

"Go!" he barked, legs sprinting like a gazelle's, a poisoned-coated dagger in each hand. Ferrand's heavy booted paces trailed him, her arrow-filled quiver shuffling and bouncing among themselves on her back. Whatever that was happening was _very wrong._

They halfway down the slope when a _BOOM_ quaked from within the temple. Greyish black tiles flew in the air as a bright greenish tint lit up the sky as if it was First Day in Val Royeaux... and began to rain down upon them as gravity resumed control of motion.

Cador forced his feet to stop, the sudden stop in momentum forcing him to slush down ankle-deep in the thick snow. Ferrand behind him did likewise, and began to climb back top. She'd discarded her bow, deciding instead to run on all four limbs for greater stability against the slippery ice.

The further they were away from the temple, the smaller chance of the bricks cracking their skulls. But the hill itself seemed bent on hindering their climb, suddenly feeling much more steep. Cador's hands and feet began to numb in the sharp cold, his weapons also abandoned - bare hands and exposed metal were not exactly ideal in the freezing wind while running away from raining debris.

"Hurry!" Ferrand shouted, panting. The archer turned back and stretched a hand. "Come on!"

Cador's arm reached to meet hers, but the dwarf's eyes grew wide, a half-finished curse, then she tumbled down face-first and slid down the snow.

Directly into him.

* * *

**A/N: So how was the prologue? Let me know. Every review goes a long way for every writer out there.**

**And yes, I know, I win shittiest updater for _Uploaded_, but this damn game has got me seduced so bad.**

**PS. I know everyone wants their character to be unique but Fenris-style lyrium tattoos, Varric's chest hair, Cullen's uber-stylish hair and Isabela's libido combined in a single person is just too much. I speak from experience.**


	2. Chapter 2

**UPDATE: If there is any aspect of your character you wish to see mentioned/focused/explored in future stories, such as sexuality/hometown/background/family/childhood, include all the relevant information in your submission. Feel free to submit it as a PM if you don't want to spoil potential plot points for other readers scrolling through the review section. **

**If you post without using an account and there is none of the above information, then I'll flesh out the unmentioned aspects of said character with my own spin as I have no way of consulting with you in private.**

* * *

Soft.

_Soft_ was the first thing Cyra's fuzzy brain registered. Then a distant warmth, with almost inaudible crackling. The archer grunted, head spinning like a drunk mabari on horseback as she moved to sit straight.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," a voice soothed. It was male, calming, and so very _Fereldan_. Strong hands supported Cyra's arms as she pushed herself upright.

Only one such person would be by her side.

"Hey, Bhrenn," she greeted, hands pressed at her temples.

Cyra's eyes struggled open, slightly wincing at a bright orange spot at the far corner of the room. As her vision cleared, she began to recognise the furniture. Bunk beds, a writing desk, a lit fireplace. As predicted, her blue-eyed friend was seated on a wooden stool beside her, lips curled up in a _what's-up_ manner.

She was back at Haven.

"What... happened?"

"You tell me," the blond replied. "We found you and Cador outside the temple unconscious and had to drag you back to Haven. Those poor horses were neighing all the way. I would too, if I had to carry two fully-geared soldiers for a good five miles."

Cyra frowned as she blinked the last of the fuzziness out of her face. "What are you talking about? You didn't have horses of your own?"

Bhrenn's expression darkened. "We did, _you_ didn't."

"No, we had horses. Commander Cullen gave us specia-" The dwarf began to realise the implications of her friend's statement. "Andraste's nug-nibbled underpants! We lost the horses!" Cyra tugged at her auburn, puffy hair. "The commander's going to demote me, isn't he?"

"Stop scaring yourself, _nobody's_ getting demoted." Bhrenn placed a hand on her shoulder. "What exactly did happen outside the temple?"

"I..." Then memories flooded back. "_Shit, shit, shit_," she cursed. "Where's Cador?"

"He's gone to first camp, he woke up hours ago. What's wrong?"

Cyra groaned. "_I_ was the reason you found us lying outside the temple. It _exploded_, then bricks were raining from the sky, and I tried to help Cador, but I tripped and... well, _crashed_."

"Crashed?"

"Into him! Ugh, Maker, he's already hated me since we met. Now he'll tell Sister Nightingale how I screwed up and I'll _really be demoted_."

Bhrenn offered a sympathetic, if slightly doubtful smile. "Maybe you should go outside, get some fresh air, it'll help take the edge off you."

Cyra collapsed back onto the bed. "And stand in the freezing cold? No, thank you. I'd rather stay in here, all nice and toasty," she said, covering herself with the blanket once more, eyes shut contentedly.

She heard a resigned sigh. "You look like a nug, you know that? A really lazy, sleepy nug."

"I don't mind, I think nugs are cute."

Cyra grumbled as long, human hands pulled her up by the shoulders. "Well, this nug's not lazing about any longer! Seeker Pentaghast has asked for you once you wake up. We need to meet her at the chantry."

"Alright, alright, just give me a moment!" the dwarf whined, annoyed at her friend. "You'd think a scout would be entitled to a little rest after getting a concussion."

Bhrenn simply remained silent, eyes glaring at Cyra until she finished tying up her boots. "Come on."

"Flaming tits," Cyra murmured to herself as she walked out the door that Bhrenn held open, blocking the piercing bright of the outdoors with an arm. "What's so damned important that she needs me now?"

As if on cue, the archer received her answer promptly.

In the form of a very large and very green hole in the sky.

Just like whatever was in the temple.

_The heck?_

* * *

"We were making our way down the hill, then the temple just... _exploded_, and everything flew up and started falling back down again. That's..." Cyra's expression faltered. "And that's all I remember," she finished softly.

The Seeker sighed. "Is that really all you can recall?"

Cyra's fingers drummed against her thighs. "Umm, we lost the horses...?" The archer tensed as the Seeker sucked in a deep breath, eyebrows scrunched up. "I'm _so, terribly sorry_, Seeker, but-"

There was the creak of a heavy wooden door behind the, and entered Sister Nightingale. Her orange hair seemed even more striking in the dark, candle-lit room.

"The prisoner has awoke," the spymaster said. "Cassandra?"

"I understand." The Seeker pinched the bridge of her nose. "Thank you, for your... recounting, Scout Ferrand. You may leave us."

_A prisoner? What prisoner?_

Cyra distractedly murmured a few words, then exited the room.

Bhrenn stood waiting outside. "Is everything alright?"

_Absolutely not_, she wanted to say. The aura of the Seeker and spymaster had always felt intimidating, and being together in the same room, questioned (interrogated, really) had done nothing but set Cyra's nerves on fire. _Pull yourself together!_

"Yeah, totally," the dwarf replied, teeth slightly chattering. Cyra didn't know if Bhrenn noticed, but she hoped that the Denerim native would simply see it as a sign of being cold. "Come on, let's head to the fire, I'm starving."

_Think of food, Cyra. Chicken, nug, lamb, potatoes, yams, stew._

"I heard Sister Nightingale mention a prisoner," she started as the duo began heading out of the building. "Know anything about that?"

Bhrenn smiled. "Know? We _brought_ the prisoner back, along with you and Cador. We entered the temple shortly after finding the two of you, and Maker be damned, a single, breathing person among dozens of burnt bodies!"

Cyra's stomach lurched at the thought. Suddenly the roasted chicken didn't seem very appetising anymore.

"And the hole in the sky?"

"Beats me, but I'll bet ten coppers someone's going to jump out and say, "that's a show of the Maker's power!' In all seriousness though, nobody knows. There are rumours, saying it's a tear in the veil, a breach of some sort. Nobody knows what they do, _yet_."

Cyra grunted, both hands rubbing at her temples. "Ugh, anymore of this and my head's going to explode like one of those hexes you do to darkspawn. Let's just go eat."

* * *

"And I said, 'I shit you not, Rivaini, every cave just looks the same to me!' If there's one thing you can trust Orlesians on, it's to make everything _so_ complicated, they look like mazes."

The crowd around the campfire laughed.

Tethras had spent the better part of last hour telling them the story of Chateau Haine, and the camp's resident storyteller had gathered an increasingly-large crowd as the minutes trickled by.

"And you should've seen the look of Hawke's face whe-"

"Varric!" a voice suddenly cut through. Forty pairs of eyes turned and searched for the source - it was the apostate elf, Solas, staff in hand. "We have to move!"

Tethras sighed as he put on his leather duster. "Alas, my dear audience, duty awaits."

"VARRIC!"

"Easy, Chuckles! I'm coming!" He took a dramatic bow. "Let's pick up when I come back. Until next time."

A smug wink, and the glib rogue was gone.

Slowly the crowd dispersed, returning to whatever they were doing. Which was just as well, because Bhrenn had started to think his legs had gone permanently numb after squeezing among the others in a _very tight_ circle.

He turned his attention to his companion, who was, without a doubt, chewing _very unexcitedly_ on a chunk of nug.

"Something wrong?" the blond asked, stretching a leg.

Cyra merely shook her head. She tore a strip off, and very painfully stuffed it into her mouth.

"You want a drink? Nettle tea perhaps?"

Another shake of the head. The dwarf's eyes never left the crackling fire in front of them.

"You're thinking about the horses, aren't you?" he asked softly.

"And the green _whatever_ that's up in our sky, and me humiliating Cador, and me getting demoted and heading back to-"

"It's fine, Cyra." Bhrenn put a hand on her shoulder. "Everything's going to be just fine."

* * *

**A/N: But as we know in the world of Dragon Age, nothing is _ever fine_.**

**As you can see, there will be tie-ins with the single-player campaign across different events. Expect to see war table-inspired missions, as well as cameos from the Inquisitor's inner circle. I'll try my best to leave the Inquisitor and any major decisions as vague as possible.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: How's the new year going? Hope you guys had a blast over the holidays.**

**Crazy Barbarian - yes, I plan to use all OCs submitted, so please do.**

**The bumbling words beneath are a by-product from too much wine and school-induced depression. Do forgive me, fellow inquisitors.**

* * *

"You have your instructions," Sister Nightingale said. "Maker be with you all."

Cyra weaved in and out of the crowd of forty scouts filtering out of Haven's chantry, her forehead smacking into elfroot-filled pouches, full quivers and bouncing butts until she found her place beside Bhrenn.

_Perk of being a dwarf_, she thought to herself dryly, _you somehow manage to kiss everyone's ass without trying._

Which was unfortunately in its most literal rendition of the saying.

Her rather-tall human friend regarded Cyra with an arched brow as she let out a string of colourful dwarven expressions.

"You want to talk about it?" Bhrenn asked, putting on his hood as they stepped out into the bitter, snowing cold.

"About what?"

"Whatever's that making you so... jumpy."

Cyra absentmindedly removed an arrow from her quiver, dancing its razor sharp tip nimbly around her fingertips. "Three days, and still no mention of the prisoner." Her eyebrows furrowed, creasing her forehead like they always did when she tried to solve a particularly hard riddle. "What do you think happened?"

"That we have either Thedas' luckiest or unluckiest person alive?"

The dwarf's thumb fiddled with the fletch. "A mage spending too much time trying the manipulate the fade? An assassin sent to sabotage the conclave by the Coterie? Or after what happened with Kirkwall, I'd bet the Qunari would want their nose in it, too."

"You're over-thinking this," Bhrenn said as he bent down, picking up his equipment by the fire. "Lots of things happen in this world without explanation." The blonde stood up, then whispered into Cyra's ear as he handed over her satchel, "Or maybe the Maker really does exist, and he happens to be a jerk who likes to see his minions explode in green."

Cyra elbowed him in the gut. "Sshh! If someone from the chantry hears you and wants to burn you alive, I'm _not_ saving you." Still, the dwarf couldn't stop a bright grin from taking over her face.

"Come on," Bhrenn beckoned. "Let's go before Ser Grumpy yells at you again."

* * *

Cador's blood boiled as he watched the dwarf-human duo approach, ridiculous grins plastered over their faces.

He'd been waiting.

And he _never_ waited.

_This child will never learn_, he decided, as they half-heartedly stifled their laughter in front of the elven rogue.

Of course, the fact that there was going to be _another_ elven rogue in their group had considerably soured his already-surly mood.

_Selena Sylvari_ had been the name on the parchment he received from Sister Nightingale.

The last name was Dalish, and as far as Cador had known his entire life, anything Dalish was nothing good.

"Is this the team, then?" a distinctly female voice came from behind him.

Distinctively Dalish too, Cador's mind registered.

He turned around, fully-expecting a tall, slender female, a face marked and covered with intricate vallaslin, long hair tied into a bun.

But Selena Sylvari was none of those things.

* * *

Bhrenn's grip on his staff tightened.

Short, raven hair that ended at her sharp chin, tattoos in the design of vines -were they supposed to be arbor blessing?- sprawled across her taut cheeks, bright eyes the colour of amethyst, almost covered by hanging strands of black that reached just below her brows.

_This_ was supposed to be their guide through the mountains?

The elf -he almost assumed she was human, if not for the tattoos and slightly large, _very_ elf-y ears- was short, perhaps only up to his chin, with limbs about as thick as those painfully thin tree branches in the middle of Harvestmere. Bhrenn was only average in build, and he already felt like a giant on a regular Feastday diet.

"I believe introductions are in order. I am Selena Sylvari," she greeted, hunched back showing Bhrenn a glimpse of the very terrible-looking blades that hung on it. "I hope you're ready for a hike."

* * *

**A/N: Happy 2015, and here's to hopefully regular updates! It's a really short update due to school and all that. I'll try to update this on a (bi)weekly basis!**

**PS. You guys realise the whole 'thoughts on Templars/elves/Orlais/blahblahblah' section isn't a requirement, right?**

**PPS. Shameless promotion - I know a number of you here are interested in OC-based stories, so check out my current sorta-kinda-ongoing Mass Effect fic, _Uploaded._ Instructions for submissions are wedged somewhere in the chapters. I think.**


End file.
